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I didn’t think this was a date.
It’s winter.I’m a busy, haggard, exhausted working mom whose legs and pits haven’t seen the light of day in months.I’m probably a freaking Neanderthal beneath the denim of my jeans.
Notthe first impression my naked body wants to make on this man if the evening starts to head in the direction my hormones are begging for right now.
I feel my soul scream inside me.
How do I get out of this?Honesty?
Do women ever say things to men like,“Hey, how about you sit by the Christmas tree while I go shave my legs?”
Maybe I’d dare say something with one of those single dads I’ve been on dates with—the ones who look as desperate and out of touch with the dating world as I am.
But not with a guy who looks like this.
I fumble with my key, a million stupid excuses flying through my brain with each second that passes.I could just let him in, and we could… talk.
Maybe steal a few moments of fully-clothed snuggle time?
Have a drink or two, but warn him that if I start to get forward with him, he might be smart to make sure I don’t remove my clothing because the sight of my legs would make him visibly recoil.
Panic snares me.Why?Is it just because of my lack of preparation?
Or is it really because there’s this tiny voice in me that says I’mjust not ready for this?I’m just not ready for that flood of hormones that comes after sex.
I’m not strong enough to steel myself against the attachment I’ll undoubtedly feel wrapping itself around my heart if I dare to do this.
I hate that I can’t do this.And I hate even more that my bristly legs are just the start of why I can’t.For all the courage I’ve had to show in my life, I’m just plain scared of feeling too much, too fast, for this man.
No.No, I just need to end this now, unshaved legs covered by my jeans, heart still safely in my own grasp rather than in his.
And dignity still intact.
“You know, I—” I stop and look up at him as my key slides into the bolt.“I—um—I forgot that I have to get my oil changed in the morning.”
Oh no.No, no, no.Did I just say that?
That’sthe best I could come up with?
So much for my dignity still being intact.
His brow rises only for a moment.“Oh—sure.Then we should probably just call it a night, then.”
“You don’t mind?”But—but Iwanthim to mind.I want him to call me out for the most ridiculous excuse to bail on the best date of my life and then tell me that he’s always had a fetish for hairy-legged women.
But instead, he simply says, “Not at all.If you don’t get to the mechanic first thing, you’re stuck waiting for hours.I get that.”
“You do?”I’m stunned.And relieved.And seriously depressed because only now am I realizing just how much I didn’t want this evening to end.
“Absolutely.I really had a great time tonight.”
“Me too.I’m—I’m sorry to cut it short.”
“It’s okay.”He starts to lean forward, and I yearn for his kiss.I’d gladly hand over a month of paychecks just to feel those warm, soft lips devouring me like I enjoyed earlier.
But then he hesitates… and brushes his lips to my cheek.
And my body screams that this is not enough.
